JUST IN CASE FILES: The Lost and The Found
by Sweetwater Gal
Summary: Justin Russo, private eye. Alex Russo, reformed criminal and plucky sidekick. A mystery woman walks in to the Skylight, asking for their help-- but the case ends up hitting too close to home.
1. Prologue

**Just In Case Files #002 - The Lost and The Found**

**Summary:** Justin Russo, private eye. Alex Russo, reformed criminal and plucky sidekick. A mystery woman walks in to the Skylight, asking for their help… but the case ends up hitting too close to home.

**Rating:** T for adult language and situation.

**Disclaimer:** See, if I owned the Russos, I'd bring _this_ Just In Case series to USA Network (characters welcome) and make a kick-ass sci-fi series out of it! But I don't own them. So I shall dream… and continue to own Barry.

**A/N:** Thank you to all my loyal readers that have probably waited a long time for the next installment! And for those that are reading this series for the first time, I actually suggest you read the first story (Just In Case Files: Fangs for the Memories). This is so you at least know and are not confused as to what has happened to the Russo kids in this alternate future storyline. Oh and keep in mind that _this_ series doesn't exactly coincide with the latest WOWP season. Past two seasons, definitely… but not this current one and possibly beyond. Because in _my_ alternate storyline, Juliet leaving Justin wasn't like the latest episode "Wizards Versus Werewolves." I did, however, smile at Justin's line to Alex at the end… because, I'm going to be shameless here and promote my other WOWP fanfic "Regular Guy." But I digress… This was the story that I was thinking heavily about as I was finishing up the first "Just In Case Files." My other half thinks the plot for this story was really good and has the potential to be one of my best… So, yeah, usual rules apply: Read and Please Review and most importantly; ENJOY!

**_~~*~~_**

**Prologue**

A few years back, my dad died.

Justin found him. Or what was left of him, I suppose.

Back then, I couldn't mourn for my dad.

Not that I was heartless. Not that I was any less of a daddy's girl.

I just… Damn it, I was a punk back then! A selfish brat. I was pissed that my brother was the family wizard, and stupid because I needed money and thought the only thing I could do to get it was sell "drugs" (technically magic enhancers…) called Ex-Potentials (street name of Ex-P's).

Huh. Who would have thought I'd be so good with chemistry? Essentially it's like making drinks, you know? One part here, two parts there… mix this with that… _don't_ mix that with this… Simple.

Who would have thought the same girl that had long ago mixed up a love potion with regular cola could have been capable of mass producing a drug that served as an amphetamine that causes a specific synapsis within a wizard's DNA. Plainly put; it adds an _extra_ charge into an otherwise dormant gene. Wizards by birth that aren't full wizards _yet_ are given a temporary boast of full wizard energy.

See? I am capable of being smart… I was just lazy.

So when I got busted and imprisoned, I thought "Well, that's fuckin' great… Oh, look! Here comes Justin to save my ass. Again."

And okay, not that I wasn't grateful or anything. Probation to be served under the watchful eye of my older brother… or serving a twenty year sentence for possession, distribution, and manslaughter (yeah… a kid O.D. on the Ex-P… I almost fuckin' slit my wrist out of guilt because of it). Yeah, no contest. Because I don't _do_ fugly yellow jumpsuits. Oh, and prison food? I'd slit my throat before digesting that slop.

And this diamond choker? Usually I'm down with pretty and somewhat kinky jewelry. I mean, c'mon, look at me. I don't do Goth, but I rock the black ensemble like a second skin. Black tight tees, black skinny jeans (fishnet leggings on hot summer days), black coat, black boots. I used to wear a lot of black eyeliner, but okay I will admit that Justin had a point. I did look like crap wearing all that crap. But this choker? I guess I'm less than enthused about this thing because it's merely a magical collar attached to an invisible leash held onto by Justin's brain.

Basically I can't take a shit without Justin (who could be halfway across town!) knowing.

My life now is nothing like how I had imagined when I was sixteen, hanging out with Harper, making Justin's life miserable-slash-entertaining, and learning how to be a wizard.

Now, I'm twenty-seven… _ish_.

I'm not "hanging out" with Harper… mostly my fault, I guess. After the wizard competition, I didn't want to be reminded of my failure. And it doesn't help when -- at the time -- your best friend was crushing on said reminder of it…

But hey!, looks like it was all for nothing because now I'm _working_ and still _living with_ said reminder.

Because regardless of how different my life had turned out, what remains is Justin. Still looking out for me. Still protecting his siblings. Still trying to do right (whatever that definition may be). Justin.

My big brother.

Justin Russo.

The man that could never break my heart…

Even now, standing in front of me with his gun trained at my chest. His eyes staring with sorrow and determination.

"I love you, Al… Please forgive me."

My eyes looked away. Angry and yet…

"_Just kill her already." _the voice said with a mixture of feign boredom to mask the delight.

Sadistic bastard. I hope Justin kills him after he kills me.

I watched Justin close his eyes, his finger on the trigger as he pleaded, "Forgive me…"

I heard myself utter "Always."

Because even now, as the gunshot rang and my blood had been spilled, I couldn't hate him or love him less…


	2. A Girl Walks Into The Bar

**A/N:** Thank you dear readers for the lovely reviews! Knowing I have an audience out there makes writing this series much more enjoyable than it already is! So, right now I am going to give a shout-out to a fellow fanfic author named **Jak4**. If you haven't read this dude's WOWP fanfics (_Second Chance_ and _Existing Life_) and you are enjoying my series, you will highly enjoy those ones. Knowing there are WOWP stories like Jak4's makes me proud to contribute to this genre! And quite honestly, possibly in another fanfic lifetime, his J.R. and my Justin could either be good drinking buddies or each other's worst enemies! Anyway, carry on reading, reviewing and most importanly ENJOY!

**_~~*~~_**

**FEW DAYS AGO…**

"You look like shit."

I felt a sigh escape my lips. My eyes glanced up to meet Barry's smirk. I winked at her while gladly tanking another shot she had placed in front of me. "Not everyone can look as pretty as you, babe."

"Why Justin Russo, are you trying to get into my pants?" Barry was wearing an auburn leather-tight tank top and as she leaned over, she exposed a part of herself that most men rarely escape from. Luckily I'm wise enough never to fall for her trap. And I'd like to think that she still allowed my tabs to keep running just _because_ I'm wise enough not to fall for said trap.

"You know my compliments are sincere, Barry." I grinned easily. "Not all men are as gentle as I."

She nodded, "True… And some are just easy lays once the booze kicks in." Barry placed yet another shot in front of me and winked before she turned to her other patrons, "Why do you think I keep trying to get you drunk, Russo?"

I toasted to her valiant effort before downing the drink. Which was a lot easier to swallow than the fact that this Amazon woman would jump me the second I cast her a come hither glance.

Though I don't know why… People see me, they see a casting reject from _The Sopranos_ with a slight John Cusackian penchant for long trench coats.

I'm also about as tall… And I brood just as well… And I'd like to think I have his _"I really could give a flyin' fuck"_ smirk patent if not _perfected_. It helps that I have a sister that had perfected her own version of said smirk by the tender age of ten.

And while I never had the chance to woo a girl with a boom-box, or crawl into a celebrity's head, or tolerate Jack Black's Monday musical craptacular (Katrina and the Waves? Really?); I've had my fair share of moments that would make the horror bestowed by Stephen King's _1408_ seem like a lullaby.

Oh. And did I mention the kickass scar across my left eye?

Take that Lloyd Dobbler!

But I digress…

My name is Justin Russo and by day I'm a private eye. By night, I'm a private eye that likes to drink. A lot.

I'm also a wizard. Not the kid-friendly fictional orphan with the lightening bolt scar. Nor the hobbit-friendly old man placed on fanboy pedestals world-wide.

I'm the type of wizard that does magic to either solve a case for my part-time bosses, the Wizard Counsel (shady old men that often acts as judge, jury, and executioner upon the folks in the magical community; not to be mistaken for the Wizard _Council_, the _other_ shady old men that often acts as God, Savior, and Mothership to the folks in the magical community), or to help the weak and magic-less souls out there with a problem that only someone with the caliber of, say, blowing up a monster? with just one black magic spell and in the end have no qualms doing it whatsoever.

I'm also the type of wizard that has to deal with an unruly and smartass partner, an unruly and secret-hiding younger brother, and an unruly and heartbreaking past that involves a dead father and a frozen-in-ice mother.

Hence the drinking… A lot.

But again, I digress…

I stared down into my now empty shot glass. I wasn't trying to read tea leaves or anything… I just like to find myself within the reflected surface that had momentarily been submerged in tequila. Because of my heightened abilities and years of drinking myself stupid, I have a _very_ high tolerance for alcohol. Nothing really phases me--

_Whoa…_ I rolled my shoulder blades, allowing an odd sensation to slide down my back. Not quite cold… yet not quite… _normal_.

I shifted in my bar stool and cast a glance around. Sunday nights at the Skylight Café (yes, irony is not lost on the fact that I'm at a bar _called_ the Skylight Café) are usually slow and uneventful. Few tourists and college kids ever make their way into this bar because A) they avoid seedy dumps like the Skylight and B) they avoid seedy dumps like the Skylight. Barry's pride and joy is mostly catered for the locals (as is the current case, three cops now off duty and looking to commiserate) and the pathetic at heart (two Wall Street schmucks with their ties undone and the stench of female rejection). I just happen to fit right proudly in between.

I shook my head. The sensation gone like a cigarette mist into the warm night air. And yet…to my discomfort and morbid curiosity, my Spidey senses are alerting me that something's amiss.

"You okay, Justin?" I heard Barry ask as she took away my shot glass and replaced it with a bigger one filled with my favorite Scotch. I blinked up at her and forced an easy smile.

"Nothing that you didn't have the smarts to fix." And down goes the smooth and woodsy taste of whiskey.

She grinned wide like that shark in that Nemo movie. It was attractive yet highly dangerous. As she poured me another glass before walking away, "Careful, doll… keeping drinking like you are and you'll start getting my hopes up."

I toyed with the drink, shaking my glass and watching the mini-whirlpool of liquor. The feeling of unease (that had nothing to do with Barry's seduction) began to settle into me once more.

Fuck… what's going on?

My gut reaction says _"Alex."_

My brain sighs _"When is it_ not _Alex?"_

Long story short; I have a magical chip in my head that's connected to my ex-convict of a baby sister. As long as she's wearing her enchanted diamond choker (mortal speak; the neck equivalent of a tracking device), I will be in tune to her feelings and basically her general well-being. If she's sad, I'll feel it. If she's pissed, oh yeah I'll know it. If she's happy… well, it's been a while since she was _genuinely_ happy, but you get the point.

There have been many a times when I would cringe in pain because Alex had gotten into trouble. I swear, either she gets into it or it follows her.

I began to close my eyes and focus on my rebellious sister-- when out of the corner of my eye, a blonde beauty with scared eyes walked in.

Well, make that she glided on through the open door like an angel. She nodded demurely -- oh she's definitely an out-of-towner -- at the guy holding the door for her. And I smirked because I knew full well it wasn't meant for her but for his girlfriend exiting the bar with him.

She looked about Alex's height, maybe a bit shorter. Young. Definitely no older than eighteen. Despite the butterfly barrettes, her long blonde hair bounced naturally in curls as it framed her heart-shape face. Her lithe figure, clutching a white jacket, was donning a casual baby blue sun dress that screamed "small town girl." And the image was only emphasized more by her brown eyes, seemingly strong despite the glimmer of fear and hesitation.

She looked lost, yet determined to find her way.

I also couldn't help but stare because, putting aside my penchant for beautiful blondes, this girl was definitely a --

"Russo."

I snapped out of my gaping to glance at Barry. She was looking at me incredulously, "Careful, handsome. Flies might get drawn in." She smirked. Barry glanced over at where I had been staring and quirked a brow.

I knew what she was thinking, but before I had a chance to recover and explain, Barry opened her mouth, "Russo--"

"Hey Barry! Need some help here!"

Barry looked over my shoulder and sighed. I glanced back and saw one of her waitresses trying to gain her attention. She excused herself, but not before giving me one more look of disbelief.

Can't blame the woman considering that seconds ago I had been staring at--

"Excuse me?"

I sighed. Can't a guy finish his internal monologue? I turned to glare at the person interrupting my thoughts, but faltered at the lost beauty now standing before me.

"Are you the one that can help me?" She asked, her voice giving off a slightly soft mid-Western twang. Her eyes, once fearful, now gleamed hopeful and eager. "Are you Justin Russo? The private eye?"

I couldn't help it. I found myself drawing a breath and slightly sucking in my gut. The girl was just as beautiful up close as she had been mere feet away. She had an innocent glow about her and I knew immediately my assumptions about this girl were confirmed.

I regarded her and gave off my best "I'm dangerous" swagger as I asked, "What makes you think I'm him?"

To my surprise, she stared at me in the exact same manner that Alex would have had I given her the same old cocky bullshit. "So you're _not_ Justin Russo?" she quirked a brow.

Wow. Guess she's not exactly "fresh off the farm" like I had assumed.

I opened my mouth, about to apologize and inquire where she had heard about me, when trouble (with a capital A) flurried her way into the Skylight Café.

"Justin!" Alex strutted in, breezing right past my guest, and sitting herself on the stool right next to mine's. Her face was as bright as her diamond choker, "You are _not_ going to believe what Max just told me!" She reached for my half-empty Scotch glass and downed what remained. After she swallowed, her eyes sparkled, "Max's going to tell Harper--"

I coughed and sent an apologetic grin towards the blonde beauty before glaring at my sister. "Alex."

Still blissfully unaware, Alex swatted my arm, "Let me finish, Just. Okay, so you know how pathetically in love Max is with Harper…"

"Alex."

"… which is kind of _weird_ considering she's, what?, my age and thus making her like a total cougar and _never_ in my wildest dreams would I have referred to her as such-- mmph?!"

The blonde stared at me the second I waved my hand as if closing a zipper, thus magically silencing Alex, who was now staring daggers. I shrugged at the blonde, "Only way to get her to shut-up. The bad thing is usually two seconds later she-- _Ow!_"

I turned to return Alex's glare while simultaneously rubbing my shoulder that she had punched. I sighed and continued, "As I was saying… before she retaliates with physical violence."

The blonde quirked her brow, "Sibling?"

I grinned, "How'd you guess?"

She shrugged, "It was either that or you were lovers. You guys look like you have a lot of history together…"

I cringed at the "lovers" comment. Unfortunately because of how _close_ -- only word that seems to come to mind -- Alex and I are; a lot of people make that assumption. Hell, a long time ago even Barry had thought Alex was my girlfriend (and you never heard this from me, but I was willing to go along with it because of how many times Barry had intentionally fucked up on Al's drinks until she learned the truth).

Alex cocked an imaginary shot gun to her head in response to the blonde's words.

"You two are definitely siblings." she chuckled.

I glanced over at Alex, "If I undo the spell, will you shut up and let me talk to my client in peace?"

The blonde beamed at my words, "So you _are_ Justin Russo, the private eye? And you will help me."

Alex rolled her eyes but nodded just the same. I knew I was going to regret this, but I snapped my fingers anyway.

"He'll help you after I beat the shit out of him!" Alex punched me in the arm once more, "Asshole…" she growled, "I told you that I hate when you do that."

I rolled my shoulder and for the second time this month I debated on tattooing a bulls-eye on my upper arm with the words "The Bitch's Punching Bag."

My gaze focused back on the blonde-- whose name I've still yet to obtain. "You were right. I am Justin. Justin Russo, P.I." I debated on holding out my hand to her when I asked, "And you are?"

She blinked and her mouth slightly hung. Confusion and surprise dancing in her eyes. "I-- I, uh…" she glanced down and what I could assume was a faint blush. "I don't remember…" she mumbled.

I glanced at Alex, who stared at her with the same amount of confusion I had on my face. "You-- you _don't_ remember?"

Uh-oh. This isn't good… but then again, it's not End of The World bad either. It just means that this will make my job a lot harder. Especially if she doesn't know who she--

"I mean," she started, closing her eyes, "All I remember is waking up and-- and realizing that she was gone."

I felt my stomach drop the moment she uttered the word "she." Because there was something in her voice, something painful, something familiar… maternal even.

"She?" Alex asked, the dread in her own voice creeping.

The blonde opened her eyes and I gulped at the sadness. Oh shit. "Yes. She. My baby. My daughter… That's why I'm here." She reached for me, and I felt an overwhelming sensation of despair from her touch.

"I need your help. Will you please help me find my daughter?"


	3. Gone Baby Gone

**A/N:** Due to the sensitive subject matter, I'd like to take the moment to acknowledge that this is a work of fiction. A fantasy one at that. In no way shape or form do I encourage parents/family members of missing children to seek out the immediate help of a "magical wizard" private eye. If anything, your local authorities and the FBI are the main people to go to if such a tragedy strikes.

Any Missing/Exploited Children statistics noted are all provided by the following sites: _klasskids[dot]org_, _missingkids[dot]com_, and _kidsearchnetwork[dot]org_.

Again, due to the subject matter, this is merely a work of fiction.

And as always, Read & Review and most importantly ENJOY!

_**~~*~~**_

About 800,000 children are reported missing each year.

On average that makes it about 2,000 kids per _day_.

When a child goes missing (and after ruling out family abduction or a runaway), most detectives treat the case akin to a homicide; if it's not solved within a specific time frame (in most cases; 72 hours), odds are slim to none that it will ever be solved.

At this moment, with my eyes regarding the young mother before me, I felt a cold certainty warning me that her child had disappeared well past (if not close to) the seventy-two hour time frame.

Swiftly, Alex and I had navigated her towards my usual corner booth towards the back of the Skylight. I allowed her to sit down while I turned to my sister, whose face was ashen with quiet sadness.

Alex looked over at her, "I'm going back to the bar to get you something to drink, okay?"

I shook my head, "She doesn't need it."

Alex glared, "I wasn't talking to you, dumbass. I was talking to her."

The young woman shook her head, wringing her hands anxiously, "No thank you. I'm-- I'm just too worried to even think about drinking…"

"Not even water?" Alex encouraged.

"No…"

"What about something to eat? I know this place looks disgusting, but the food's--"

I didn't mean to. Honestly, a part of me wasn't thinking when I snapped, "She doesn't want anything, Al!"

I felt her glare burning into my skull. "You're an asshole today, you know that? Un-bunch your panties, Justin, before I get back." She turned towards the young woman, and her voice doing a complete 180, "I'll at least get you a glass of water."

I inwardly cringed. Especially as I felt my brain get assaulted with a wave of scathing hatred from Alex. She was going to make me pay later on… I can just feel it.

The blonde beauty nodded gently at my sister, "Okay… thank you, Alex."

Alex shot me one last scowl before turning on her heels. My stomach churned at the thought of what she might have Barry spike into my drink.

But I couldn't think about that now. Not when I have a missing child case on my hands…

"No wonder most people confuse you two for being a couple." I heard my new client muse.

I turned to her as I sat myself opposite of her in my booth. I shrugged, "Comes with the territory of being not just her brother, but her keeper." I pointed to the diamond choker, "That thing around her pretty little neck? Tracking device sanctioned by a judge." I waved my hand dismissively, "Long story… back to your dilemma…"

I watched her glance around furtively, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. Her lips quivered, "For the past-- well, for the past few hours I suppose, I've been trying to find someone, anyone!, to help me find my daughter."

Most parents or family members usually report to the police. Us private investigators, mortal or magic, usually get involved when all other methods have been exhausted. I voiced as such to her, minus mentioning the _magic_ part.

She nodded, "I had gone to the police and they were of no help! The station house I had gone in to, they were too busy to help me…"

I watched her and inwardly cringed at her helplessness. This poor girl needed to calm down before--

"Here you go," Alex rejoined us and placed the glass of water in front of the young woman. Obviously still pissed at me, Alex sat next to our distraught guest. Somewhat ignoring me, "I would have ordered some fries, but Barry's busy yelling at some guy over the phone about her heating bills…"

I rolled my eyes and snorted in disbelief. Alex took that as a sign that I was getting pissed off at her ignoring me… I wasn't by the way.

"Why can't I remember my name?" she moaned. Her eyes were pleading, as if hoping that I had the answer.

Sure, there are spells that can help with memory recovery. A few of them good spells and a few more are-- _questionable_ ones. But, yes, there are ways to lift the mental fog blocking one's brain.

I stared her down, "Is that why you sought me out? Besides helping you find your daughter? Because you heard that--"

She blinked. Confusion evident in her brown eyes. "What do you mean? How _can_ you help me with my amnesia?"

The more I regarded her, the more I came to realize that she was just like any… well, any _non_-magic being. Technically. She didn't live in the same world that Alex and I occupy. Which begged the question…

"How'd you know to seek me out?" I asked.

I don't have a reputation.

Okay, maybe I do… But not one that I'm all too pleased about. Due to a _past_ incident, a lot of people have been showing up and asking for the type of help that often requires strong black magic. Dark magic. Forbidden spells… so to speak.

Before I was just Justin Russo. That wizard whose siblings are magical misfits; a traitor of a brother and a criminal for a sister. That wizard whose dad killed himself before supposedly turning his wife into an icicle. That wizard who often is the Wizard Counsel's Errand Boy.

_That_ Justin Russo.

And, okay except for the Errand Boy shit, I was slightly content with that image. Because at least they never knew what I was _really_ capable of…

Because seriously, which badass do you know _loves_ a public image? Did Batman? Did Superman?

Sorry, geek moment.

Anyway, back to present time. I asked her again, "Where did you get my name? How did you know that I could be the one to help you?"

"Yeah…" Alex mused, "The Russo name isn't _that_ notorious in the mortal world…"

The young mother blinked, "_Mortal_ world?"

Alex and I shared a look. Well, make that Alex tossed a _"Oops!"_ glance and I volleyed back a _"Watch what you're saying!"_ glare.

Thankfully our guest decided to reprieve us by momentarily ignoring our exchange. She explained, "After I left the police station… I was… lost. I'm not from around here, of that I feel sure about. All I knew was that my daughter was missing and that I needed help finding her."

She paused, reflecting on her activity prior to walking into the Skylight. "Eventually, I ended up coming across this… well, this homeless man. At first I was a bit frightened by him… but then realized that he must've been just as scared of me as I was of him…"

Alex chuckled into her drink, "Honey, there are a _lot_ of homeless guys in this big ol' city."

I regarded the young woman and slowly realized who exactly she had come across. "Was his name Gregory? And did he…" I coughed and with slight hesitation, "… did he look like he couldn't see?"

Her face glowed at my description, "Yes! He said that you knew him! At first I really thought he was blind, but then when he started talking _to_ me and asking if I was lost, well I guess that it was all an act…"

"Most of them," Alex began with a slight disgust, "usually need a pity gimmick."

I nodded off-handedly, "So Gregory sent you, huh?"

"He insisted that you could help me."

I mumbled, "Of course he would…"

She reached her hand out to me, "So does that mean _you_ would?" The moment of contact, my body electrified and my eyes instantly met hers.

_A street light… Ember glow fading…_

_Empty… quiet… Soft…_

… _whimpers… a baby… pink blanket… white letters… CALLIE…_

_Blood… blood… darkness…_

_Callie… Callie…_

"Callie!" I gasped and felt my back slam into my seat.

I immediately pulled away from her and just like that, the images disappeared. I hadn't realized I was breathing for air until I felt Alex's coaxing.

"Justin? Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked. Gone was the annoyance in her eyes, only to be replaced with concern.

I shook my head, "Damn… I hate when that happens."

Alex stared at me, "What _did_ happen?"

Before I had a chance to explain, our heads turned to the young mother, whose eyes were wide and her lips were muttering the name of her daughter. "Callie… Callie…" She met our gazes and whimpered, "I named her Callie, short for Calista, after my grandmother…" Her eyes, glassy with memory, closed before opening with realization, "My grandmother… who named me… Dianna… Dianna…" She kept whispering the name, as if testing the way it rolled off her tongue so easily.

Which means I could only assume, "You just remembered who you…" I trailed off, then rephrased, "You remembered your name."

Dianna, whose eyes danced, smiled as she spoke, "Dianna. My name's Dianna."

Alex beamed at me before grinning at her, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Dianna."

She nodded at Alex then turned back towards me, "Oh Justin, you must help me now! Gregory was right in sending me to you. If you were able to help me remember my name; then I _know_ that you can help me find my Callie." Before I could stop her, Dianna reached for me once more.

And I felt that blazing fire of hope that I now saw in her eyes.

I gulped… Fuck. There's no way I could say "No." Damn it, Gregory… I sighed and immediately pulled away from her.

"Okay. I'll help." I slid out of the booth, "But first, I need to pay a friend a visit…"


	4. Merely An Old Fool

**A/N:** Thank you for those not only reading this story, but more so for those that are leaving reviews! You've all probably heard it before but it's true; a writer does enjoy responses. Anyway, unto the story!

**Disclaimer:** I own... well, I don't own the Russos that's for sure.

**_~~*~~_**

They insisted on following me. Alex -- despite her evil mind -- was already emotionally invested in helping me find Dianna's little girl. And Dianna? Well, it's bad enough that her maternal instinct was burning, but add in the fact that she's--

"Where are we going?" Alex interrupted my thoughts, causing yours truly to roll my eyes.

One day I will finish that damn monologue.

The twinkling of the city lights loomed around us. Over my shoulder I tossed my little sister a shrug. "_I_ have to talk to a friend. _You_, my favorite miscreant, are merely following me despite the fact that I told you to go back to Max's so that I can handle this."

Alex Russo was at her best when she was fuming. With sass, she strode up to equal my pacing and shoulder butt me. Hissing, "You need me, Justin 'thinks he's such a badass because he's the family wizard' Russo." Her eyes sparkled with conviction. The light in her eyes definitely matched the glow of the diamond choker.

I glanced back at Dianna, who despite the cool air, was clutching onto the coat in her hands like a lifesaver.

Gently, I grasped Alex's arm and quickened pace. I lowered my voice, "There's something you need to understand, Al."

Surprised by my sudden urgency, she quirked her brow, "What is it?"

"It's Dianna. And her daughter… we might not--" I hissed, only to be interrupted by a slight moaning echoing from an alley across the street from us.

"_Russo? Russo… is that you?"_

I sighed and released my hold on Alex. I nodded at Dianna, "Watch her, will you? I need to have a word with Gregory…"

So, here's the thing: Gregory _used to be_ an accountant for a local "family run" business in Little Italy. Gregory also _used to be_ married to the niece of the manager of said local "family run" business in Little Italy. And Gregory _used to be_ able-bodied and with a 20/20 vision.

An accident changed all that within a blink of an eye… Heh. Pardon the-- well, you'll _see_ in a moment.

So, there was an _accident_. An accident involving a vengeful sprite looking to claim what was taken (bullied, muscled out, insert whatever mafia cliché here) from him by the manager of "family run" business in Little Italy.

An accident that had Gregory and his wife (wrong place, wrong time) caught in the crossfire (or in this case, Mist-Fire; a potent gas bomb that causes its victims' organs to wilt from the inside).

And unfortunately, I was hired to help clean up the mess… Literally… Oh God, literally. Zombie massacres have nothing on the after effect of a Mist-Fire raid. Thank the gods that its rare and that government mortals never heard of this deadly weapon.

When all was said and done (and cleansed, and mind-swiped, and covered as deep as Watergate), Gregory can now be found lounging around various tenements in Alphabet City.

And when I mean "lounging," I mean sitting his -- sometimes (translation: every other day) drunk -- ass against the wall, panhandling for money and pity.

Poor Gregory. In all honesty, he had the looks of that Affleck guy… if a bucket of acid had been thrown on his Hollywood frame and he was reeking of Chanel Ode the Vomit.

"Russo?"

I regarded him with the same amount of pity I gave him years ago. "Gregory, you're looking… well."

He looked like your average homeless bum. Rags for clothing. A shopping cart and empty, torn boxes for shelter. A cup to panhandle pity money from the working class citizens of New York. Even a worn cardboard sign that said "Blind and Homeless. Will you spare a few?"

And yet, despite his sorry state, if Gregory tilted his head up and smiled, the average _normal_ human would have backtracked in a state of shock. Why? Because for someone that looked like he'd been through the wasteland and back again, his grin glistened like Alice's Chesire Cat; white, wide, and bright!

Which is what he had done so upon my acknowledging him.

"Huh. So she's found you." he said. Gregory reached his hand out, trying to seek his cane so that he could stand in my company. Homeless he may be, but Gregory never forgot to be a gentleman.

I nodded despite his handicap. He took my pause to translate it as such.

"She's not intruding in the middle of a job, huh Russo?"

I shook my head, "Nope." I reached down and cupped his elbow, helping to steady him on his feet.

"You pissed."

"Uh… more or less agitated."

Gregory removed his shades so that he could clean it with his filthy rags. Yes, the irony isn't lost on me. Neither is the chill that flew down my spine as I regarded his empty eye sockets as they stared at me. He cast a shrug my way before placing his sunglasses back on. "Them's not knowing never stopped you before."

"True…" I sighed, "But there's a _child_ involved."

Gregory nodded. Then hacked a spit before adding, "That's why I sent her to _you_ and not, say, someone like _Astor Volnay_."

I bit my lip and nodded in understanding.

Astor Volnay. Fuck me. I hadn't heard that name in _ages_. I voiced my opinion as such.

"Well, you're not exactly his favorite person either, Russo." Gregory chuckled before hacking another spit.

I smirked and crossed my arms, "Bastard hasn't forgiven me for Zsa Zsa."

Gregory grinned, "She was his favorite hellhound…" He then shook his head, "But no, I'm afraid that's not why Astor doesn't favor you."

I quirked a brow at that, "Should I even ask?"

He looked down, his cane slightly tapping at the concrete. After pondering a good second or so, Gregory gazed back up at me and said, "You've come to talk about the girl, not our favorite specter importing psychopath."

I glanced back at Alex and Dianna. The girls were standing across the street, patiently awaiting for my next move. From Dianna's gaze, I could tell that she's concerned about what Gregory and I have to talk about. Alex, for all her impatient tendencies, was surprisingly gentle in her calming of Dianna's anxiety.

"It could take days, hell even _weeks_, before the Realization." I sighed before turning back to face Gregory. Grimly, "The thing is, there's an actual _child_ involved. What if her daughter doesn't have that much time? Or worse? What if--"

Gregory grinned at me again. Gods help me, but I don't know which is more horrible; his smile or his eye-less stare.

"You know your options, Russo. You can either take the girl to one of New York's finest _psychics_--" His sarcasm was interrupted by a dangerous series of coughs and hacking. A bit concerned for him, I gave his back a big smack. "Oh! Oh, thank you… What? Right. _Or_ you can take her to see Astor and see if he's willing to help out of the kindness of his, uh, ahem… _heart_."

I rolled my eyes. "Basically I'm stuck between a rock and the Great Wall of China."

Gregory laughed. "Oh Russo, your wit will get you killed."

"That's what I've been told." I muttered, running a tired hand through my hair. "Fuck. Well, seeing Astor just yet is out of the question. Dianna _barely_ remembered her name, not to mention her daughter's… I have to find another source that could possibly help--"

Gregory wobbled a bit in his stance before finally deciding to sit back down. He tilted his head up at me, indicating that he's still listening. With a weary smile, "What kind of P.I. are you? Don't you got a brother who's connected?"

I blinked. Max? "Max?"

Gregory blew his nose. I grimaced at the crap hanging down his face. He nodded, "Yeah. The talker. He's connected, right?"

I shook my head. Technically he _was_, but as far as I know Max's connections (both mortal and _non_-mortal, a.k.a. magical) weren't as notoriously known. One whiff of Max still keeping ties in the magical community (present familia company excluded) and you can be sure as hell that the Counsel will descend all hell upon his life! I said as much to Gregory.

To my surprise, Gregory grinned. "That's not what I've been hearing…"

I scowled at that comment. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He held his hands out, "I am just an old fool that hears and sees things no mere mortal should ever partake in."

My scowl deepened. "You're my age, Gregory. And you're not a mortal."

"Anymore." He sighed before reaching into his raggedy clothes to unearth a whiskey bottle. As I watched him tank practically the whole drink, I had gotten the sense that he wasn't going to elaborate on the comment about my brother.

I shook my head and refrained a sigh of my own. Without thought, I reached for my wallet and tossed him a few bucks. "Don't spend it all at once."

He held up his bottle, "You're a good man, Russo."

I gave a backhanded wave as I turned coat and took a step off the curb.

"Beautiful…" I heard him sigh. "Real beauty, that one is."

I didn't bother to ask nor wonder what he started going on about. Why should I? I got whatever necessary information I needed. I had to move on.

Though I did find it odd that when I did take note of his ramblings (from the moment I stepped onto the opposite street curb to join Alex and Dianna), I became troubled by the words that were spewed so drunkenly, yet pierced so clearly like a bell.

_"She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."_


End file.
